Illicit Dreams and Symbiosis
by Primalevolence
Summary: Who is this guy with the goggles? Why is everyone so concerned by his arrival in the orphanage? These are the questions that Mello asks himself. How little does he know that the future holds unlikely bonds and a tragic truth that has given birth to chaos.


_**A/N: Well, this is new. Welcome to my very first proper actual sincere and official first attempt at a Death Note Fanfiction. I have absorbed as much inspiration as possibleh and hope it doesn't end up a disaster like most stuff I write is predicted to. Cross fingers and kiss a four-leafed clover. Just in case. I don't know if that works, and if it doesn't - get a lucky duck. I have one. I keep it in my blazer pocket on exam days.**_

_**So, this is rated T because... well, I like T. But what Brit doesn't? I think Light should have taken on an entire alphabet, y'know. And T could have been the most powerful englishman with a sidekick called Biscuits who later turned out to be an actual pack of McVitie's Digestives and T subsequently turned out to be a psychopath who believed the tasty wonders could talk to him and offered supernatural powers and glimpses of the future. And boom! - just like that we have another fanfic plot and the twist it comes with in a little package.**_

_**Good grief, I need to get out more.**_

_**PS, it could turn into an M considering the dark and disturbing themes that come into play. Wait... T turns into M...? *looks into mug* MELLO WHAT ARE YOU DOING DOWN THERE!? (Biscuits just metamorphosised into a Bourneville bar btw)**_

_**Ch. 1 - 'Outsider'**_

To say that Quillish Wammy was nervous would have been the understatement of the milennium. To say he was on the brink of questioning his own sanity would have been highly accurate. He'd decided immediately without thinking... Unlike him. Very unlike him. To allow emotions to control one's choices and actions was always a reckless move. Was he suddenly turning senile with age? He expected Roger would be in similar distress. Pacing up and down the corridors at the orphanage with anxious and concerned anticipation. But Quillish could not change anything now. Wammy's House was about to recieve an... unexpected addition to it's student population. How this would all unfold was a mystery in itself. No one but Roger had been alerted of the boy's arrival. No one but Roger could be told why he would be staying at the orphanage. Otherwise, all hell would break loose. That was for certain. Rubbing his temples furiously, he again stared at the dim screen of the desktop computer before him. It wasn't long before Roger had sent a message of confirmation. Quillish could honestly say he felt his own life was on the line.

_Damn my old age._

He had asked L, as soon as he had the chance, if he could take this boy into his orphanage. Soon after, he had wanted to take it all back as he had been having far too many doubts that unnerved him further. Of course, it was too late by this point. L had contained any emotion like his usual self and simply said,

"If you feel that strongly about his situation, who am I to say no? It is hardly justice but then... he is only ten... Well, would you say killing people for something they've done is justified? Hmm... even I am struggling to decide on this one, Watari."

And then he drifted into silence, proceeding to finish the ice cream cone in hand. He clearly saw and understood Quillish's several varying concerns. And as perplexing as L's neutral reaction was, it at least gave some minor comfort.

* * *

-**Earlier that morning-**

_Rain again...?_

Awakening to the sound of the rapid tapping, that signified the rain, on the window at the other end of his room, Mihael propped himself up on his elbows and narrowed his eyes at the freshly speckled double-glazing that allowed a dull, cold shade of blue to illuminate the room. Faintly, so that outlines of objects were visible, details vague but an exceptionally wonderful silhouette of half of the computer monitor that sat on a desk beside the window itself. Slitted eyes glanced at the digital clock on the bedside table to his left. 3:57AM. He'd slept for barely three hours. This was getting ridiculous. Mihael rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes, the marks becoming more prominent due to sleep deprivation. In the past few weeks, he had been having serious issues with sleep. The worst thing was, he had no idea what was causing it. He'd toss and turn and when he finally did drift off through the discomfort - somehow - he would awaken roughly half an hour later, cursing in exasperation. The situation was, put simply, diabolical. How was he supposed to surpass Near without the concentration required to even focus on a test? He could hear the white-haired boy mocking him now.

"Don't strain yourself, Mello."

One day... one day he would snap and send a fist straight into that smug face. He swore that he would. There was a storm coming for Near. And by no means did Mihael promise the one brewing outside his window at that moment. No... the storm he promised actually hurt.

But all this aside, even Roger hadn't seemed exactly in the joyous of moods the past few days. During breaks from classes and spare time in general, he had not been eyeing the orphans with the same eagle-like accuracy as always. Instead, he had been pacing quite frequently at regular intervals. Chuntering underneath his breath. He had been expressing a frustration that Mihael could not boil down to anything. It had appeared to have begun out of thin air. Of course, Mihael had exploited Roger's distracted mind and had actively been stealing extra chocolate. He had learned to take opportunities when they so perfectly fell into your lap. It was fantastic. But still... there was an unshakeable tension in the air that he just could not place. Mihael wondered momentarily if Near had been experiencing this at all, too. Near who was always calm and had no time for anyone else. Had he payed any attention to Roger's change in attitude? Probably not. It was more probable that he was asleep, at this very moment, in the sea of books and sheets of paper that was his bedroom. Mihael casted a glance over the floor of his own room then. Indeed, books were everywhere here as well. But he would bet every chocolate bar in his future that if you opened Near's door too quickly, it would be the last time you opened anything. That an immense landslide of books would cascade onto the landing and that would be the end of you. With a snort of amusement, Mihael crawled from his bed with all the grace of an exhausted workhorse and eventually stood. The room was lighter now. He could clearly see the sweat rolling down his bare arms. That was another thing - he would sweat buckets throughout the night, so much he even felt slightly nauseous. Fine now, he raised a brow at the sticky texture that the perspiration had left behind and decided not to roll his sleeves back down. It was still far too warm for that. With a heavy sigh of defeat, he shuffled himself to the window, socks pulling under his feet as the friction of dragging against the carpet tugged at the black cotton.

It really was miserable out there, that much was evident from just peering through the drooping blind that was doing a very bad job at its purpose. It was half rolled up but even the slats between the long sheets of metal that clustered above were far too wide. They looked very out of place, as well, being much more modernised than the rest of the house. Wammy's House was an extraordinary and large building, pretty much a mansion tenfold. It had a uniquely ornate design that often made it difficult to find your way around - that's if you were unfamiliar with the place - but the Norman architecture was truly something to behold. Many of the orphans here could appreciate it. It was their home after all.

Mihael sighed, slouching into the computer chair beside his window, still mesmerised by the dim and pale blue light it let in. The raindrops were sometimes hypnotic, the way they suddenly appeared on the glass and began trickling down to the frame at the bottom, where they settled. Even the sound of rain was soothing. The muffled pattering on the roof and on the window was like nature's own lullaby regardless of what time of day it was. Too bad I can't sleep, Mihael grumbled to himself. Or maybe you'd work, weather. Nice try. Thanks anyway.

He spent the next four hours or so trying to entertain himself. Sadly noting that the CD and tape player would be too much of a risk of waking someone up, and that Megadeth was not everyone's 'cup-of-tea' especially in the small hours of the morning, the computer was something of a last resort. Even though his files mostly consisted of work and not much else aside from Solitaire, pinball and minesweeper. The classic Windows game package. He was never any good at pinball, solitaire was somewhat boring and minesweeper was damn near impossible at times. Choosing the latter from the bland options that the computer offered, Mihael sat back in the creaky, adjustable chair. Within seconds he'd clicked on a block that revealed the 'mine' and ended the first attempt abruptly. And like that, he shut down the computer with a huff of resignation and went to catch up on a few hours of studying before Roger yelled for the students to wake up at exactly 8:15.

The house was so large and yet the man didn't even have to use a megaphone or a tannoy. There was no doubt that the battle cry of "Breakfast!" could carry down the road. It was likely that other residents of the street had excellent attendance at work purely because of the blessing that was Roger who conveniently worked and lived mere yards away from their homes. Well, the aging man may have benefitted them but if it were up to Mihael then he would have earplugs distributed to everyone in the building who were sensitive of hearing, including himself. With ten minutes to spare before the very house itself quaked and woke up/left their rooms from the bellowing, Mihael went to get changed out of his pyjamas and into clothes that - as one other kid had pointed out to him once - were hard to identify from his night clothes. The only true difference was probably the bagginess of his pyjamas and the long sleeves. Not to mention he was throwing on a T-shirt that morning so as far as Mihael was concerned, that bold brat could shove it up his arse so far he had constipation for a month. Or maybe two: he was feeling generous.

At that moment, only seconds of silence passed before the digital clock to his left flicked it's third digit onto '5' and very suddenly the disembodied and echoing sound of Roger's voice - that gave it a godlike quality - boomed throughout Wammy's House. Vibrations of feet on sturdy wooden floorboards followed with muffled banter, yawning and grumbles followed. Each child only washed on an evening due to the strict early starts that came at the beginning of a day. In a morning, they were usually only allowed seconds in the bathrooms otherwise Roger would get his hair off and then there would be hell to pay if everyone came down to the dining hall late. Mihael always waited until the vast majority of children had made it down the several staircases so he had less bustle to get through on the journey down after he'd brushed his teeth and also gotten the knots out of his hair - these, courtesy of the tossing and turning that came with troubled sleep. As Mihael practically threw himself down the first staircase, he silently thanked whatever higher beings or entities that watched over them that it was a Friday. Every so often, Roger would plan a weekend trip out somewhere for a select amount of children. Being one of the top students, Mihael was always amongst them. Thankfully, Roger always left out the misbehaving kids behind as punishment which took the edge off the fact that Near was always tagging along too. If Mihael had to put up with idiots as well as his arch-nemesis, one can only wonder at the possibilities. Near was always near. He was so sure that the smug little git chose the name on purpose. So damn sure. Even as he entered the dining hall with a few other kids who had taken their time getting there, Near looked directly at him from the table closest to the door and waved with a blank expression. Mihael blinked slowly just as Roger got a couple of attendees to hand out soup and porridge as that morning's breakfast choices. It appeared that the place beside Near at that table had become the only place spare in his delay to the hall. Grudgingly, Mihael headed over to sit himself down and grinded his teeth behind thinned lips. What was Prince Perfect up to?

"Good morning, Mello. Sleep well?"

Mihael narrowed his eyes at the boy beside him, taking a bowl of tomato soup from the kid opposite who restrained himself from protesting after seeing who the thief was. The smaller boy instead went for another bowl that was placed further up the middle of the table and continued quiet conversation with his apparent friend next to him. Mihael recognised them as Billy and Rudy, two of the lesser children at Wammy's House. He didn't know much about them or much about any of the rest of the uninteresting and less intelligent children at the orphanage, but he could deduce solely from Billy's reaction that he was a weakling and his friend Rudy was one to follow suit even though he looked the older and tougher of the pair. Linda, the girl further on, was also a part of their friendship group and engaged in conversation with them with very bubbly vigour. But none of them were interesting to Mihael. They even had boring, ordinary names, which showed they were not part of L's potential successors. Those that held potential were granted a codename of their choice in practice of their possible, future detective identity. A name that would stick with them forever, should they succeed as the world's greatest detective. And so, Mihael did not know Near was Nate Rivers, and Near mutually did not know Mello was Mihael Keehl. The only thing they truly knew about each other was that they were the top two students in the Orphanage. To Mihael's dismay, with Near always number one.

They had both often tried to figure out the reason behind each other's chosen codenames though. Roger had told them that it could have something to do with your personality, initials, a memory or it could be the most random choice in the world. It was entirely up to you and therefore, possibilities were ultimately endless. But Mihael was dead certain, opinion never swayed, that Near was Near because he was constantly present. If he was asked one of those questions like 'the object to your left and your current emotion', Mihael's answers would always be 'Near' and 'pissed'.

Mihael swirled the basil atop the soup around his bowl for a while, thinking. His teeth were clenched now, mindless chattering between children around him drowned out from the ranting in his head. But even in this vulnerable state, Near still had the audacity to lean slightly closer and quickly poke him in the shoulder with a spoon. Mihael was brought from his sudden ponderings with a start and slowly turned to glare at Near who looked back with irritatingly innocent eyes.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I didn't have to." Mihael growled, the urge to grab the offending spoon in Near's hand and launch it at the boy's face was astounding. He maintained composure however, but the intensity of his glare remained.

"Well..." Near fell silent as he dipped a piece of bread into his soup and then popped it into his mouth. "It would have been polite."

"Near, do you exist solely to annoy or is that just me thinking too hard?" Mihael asked, tone venomous. Near chewed the soggy bread in his mouth before swallowing it loudly and allowing five very long seconds to stretch out before responding.

"...I really do believe that soup is going cold." He looked at Mihael's bowl with pity, ignoring the odd stare that Linda had now fixed him as he seemed entranced by Mihael's soup. "And yes, you are thinking too hard. I don't know what about but your soup is going cold because of it. And by the way..." he glanced around uncertainly before leaning unbearably closer, whispering with a faint smirk on his face, "...there's a new student on the way this morning." There was something about the way Near spoke that almost begged for lightning to crack outside at that very moment. Mihael shrugged and gradually got round to finishing his soup, taking his time like every child did. It was a good hour before lessons began and it was nice to be able to enjoy your food whilst mentally preparing for the day ahead. Although Near was beside him, he now felt more relaxed and awake. It was this more docile side of him that Near did not often see that was why he had picked his codename. The lack of the 'w' was unexplainable though. It just made it more unique. He thought it did anyway.

Not soon after the majority of the students had finished their breakfast did Roger have that same look of uncertainty on his face that Mihael had been catching glimpses of all week. He seemed shifty as the morning progressed and eventually dashed from the large dining hall the way a person who had previously been unsure about whether or not they were going to throw up would. The sound of his footsteps on the hard marble floor of the hallway echoed much like his voice did, resonating through the room and off the bare walls. The students fell silent for a while until they thought Roger was out of earshot and then proceeded to whisper frantically to each other. They were all slightly perturbed by Roger's sudden swing of behaviour and were conversing over just what could have gotten him so... not right. Mihael found himself wondering again and turned to look at Near who was undoubtedly already looking at him with an expression that read "told you so."

"How the hell did you know?" Mihael lowered his voice into a hiss at the boy who began habitually playing with a lock of his own hair. He answered simply with,

"I... overheard things."

Mihael's eyes drifted up and wandered over the large beams running across the ceiling, searching, as he felt more than a little paranoid already. Since when did Near eavesdrop?

"What things did you overhear?"

"Let's just say... no one, not even L, is a hundred percent happy about this 'situation'."

"That's not really a secret. Have you noticed how strange Roger's been acting lately? But L, too? Why?"

Near shrugged, pausing in his twiddling as he stared into some distant and invisible cosmos for answers through the chest of Linda who, noticing this not even seconds later, interpreted it entirely the wrong way and threw a lump of bread at his face. Near jumped minutely, startled by the Warburton's that had bounced off his nose and looked at Linda in utter confusion. Mihael just hid his face, laughing as Linda then left the table in a strop. He was laughing harder still when Near turned to him and asked,

"What did I do?"

It hadn't been a spoon, but it was the next best thing.

Meanwhile, Roger was waiting anxiously at the big double-doors of the orphanage, staring at the black Rolls Royce that had just turned up. There was something about the one-way window tinting that was just not making this situation any better. Not to mention, the driver that L had sent to deliver the boy was taking his time parking his expensive vehicle just right. Even the door the boy left with was centred to the pathway leading up to the orphanage's entrance. The precision was extremely unnecessary but graceful nevertheless.

The boy himself was extremely peculiar. In one hand, he clutched a duffle bag, a dark shade of grey. The other was tucked into a pocket of the beige body-warmer he had zipped up to his throat over a black and red striped shirt. And there was no possible way to tell what the colour of his eyes was due to the orange goggles firmly in place over them. Roger knew younger generations had increasingly eccentric fashion senses. But this was something new altogether. And his hair was a very odd shade of brown that, when the light hit it at a certain angle, turned it a strange sage colour.

But unlike many of the other children that had arrived by themselves, he didn't seem as... confident. The boy averted his gaze as Roger opened the big oak doors further for him with his teeth grinding anxiously down on what appeared to be a toothpick in his mouth. Perhaps he was aware that Roger knew what had... happened. But Quillish had only given him the basics so he didn't exactly know every single thing about the boy.

He closed the door behind them, the ten-year-old staring around at the hallway before him with clear awe. Water dripped from strands of his hair and speckled the orange lenses of his goggles that he lifted up to rest on his forehead impulsively, revealing bright blue eyes that shimmered with temporary wonder. Despite himself, Roger smiled. All the children had been initially impressed by the beauty and mass that was the orphanage. It was reassurring to see this in someone he had been concerned about. At least there was a sign of normality.

Roger led the boy down to his office which resided at the far end of the corridor to the left, passing the dining hall along the way. Silent children leaned around each other to catch sight of the newcomer who followed Roger closely, rolling his toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other. Near blinked slowly at the passing boy, chewing more bread at a similar pace. He heard someone mutter something at the back of the room like, "Great, another weirdo." and turned to stare at the person in disbelief. Mihael only glanced up once, unwilling to join the crowd who sought to satisfy their childish curiosity, but that was all it took to tell him there was something very mysterious at work. Roger's strange behaviour and what Near had told him all added to the mix that peaked his interest about this newcomer.

In the office, Roger placed a form in front of the boy and handed him a HB pencil. He stared at the paper for a while, eyes scanning over what it asked for. In 'Date of Birth', he wrote in scrawny writing that had the nib of the pencil ground down until blunt,

_January, 2nd, 1990._ He then proceeded to fill in the trivial things like Gender and Age before putting the pencil down. Roger blinked and noticed that he had left the space for Name entirely blank and pointed to it, offering a friendly smile as he passed it off as a mistake of overlooking. The boy hesitated momentarily before picking up the pencil again and in the space, he wrote, harshly, only four letters:

**Matt.**

* * *

_**A/N: I sh*t you not, this is roughly eight weeks in the making and the STRESS that came with the planning and ughhhhhhh. *headdesk* I'm really quite excited to see what you lot make of this as it progresses. Certain aspects are STILL in development believe it or not but that's chapters ahead type stuff. This may go AU at some point but it's not going to be anything whopping. I'm keeping everyone as in-character as my literary skills will allow. Also, I'd like to mention that this was inspired by many songs, caffeine rushes, etc. I'd be layed in bed at one in the morning when suddenly- "I SMELL INSPIRATION." And I'd write all this stuff down that flooded in. So, for once, I actually know where a story is headed. Yayzles.**_

_**Please leave a review after the beep.**_

_**BEEEEEEP.**_


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